Thursday, 30 June 2016

belly (second reflection)

my belly is never good enough

feel its soft largesse
full of carbs

see its depressed

memory of my 
birth my connection to


against all the cultural
phlegm caught in the

i realize it will never be
what me or anyone
else want it to

begin to 
treasure it

my belly
and button

murder at the movies

You spilled your popcorn - I stated the obvious. Kell was standing up now and stretching over me to cuff Bless in the ear with the side of her hand, but Bless was fixed on the man, and taking it all in, while up on the screen was a lesser sin, in black and white, walking the halls, inspiring the fright, shadows in the night, and the boyfriend was on his way back with an RC Cola exchanging pleasantries with the cashier, it was calm and quiet in here, the safest place you thought you could be, at a movie, watching life from the outside in, the silver screen… a lesser sin. And I was in between the clash, trying to hold Kell off, we can’t do anything, it’s done! And I led her away, while Bless finished him off and his boyfriend came upon the body slumped down, and saw the woman who seemed to be holding him up from behind and he went and held his friend, down on his knees, looking between the seats into the eyes which were aglow, but it was colorful and he wouldn’t but remember later, what was so off about it, asking her what happened? and she said innocently I don’t know, he just, he just had a seizure or something, I tried to hold him but you know they say to let them free, and, well, I didn’t want any harm to come to him so I did, but it sure was a bad seizure - is he on some medication?    -- Book 3 (teaser). Ame and the Tangy Energetic

Sunday, 26 June 2016


the best thing about good
maybe that good often comes of bad
and good comes of good

what with bad
bad comes often of bad
and good rarely so


Journal # 06.26.2016

Tonight I seem to have lost a year but it doesn't matter, time is fluid showers over us, slanting down shoulder blades, slips between fingers, in and out of endless divots the fabric of pores, circles the drain and away, guided by threads and spinning. Tonight I am petulant, a tenured professor, setting myself up against impossible deadlines, racking my brains and then breaking. Tonight I am quiet going about my weekend, on the steps of the back porch platformed above the backyard below sky, listening to catfights, a solo calling bird, waiting for dawn and the burgeoning rush of highways, the streaming of sound, faraway, trying to trust, outdoors. Tonight I could be any old brick of clay, unformed and pulled from plastic, rather drab and uniform yet gleaming somehow from the inside out, on a table of hardwood in the center of a studio... with so much promise I could only walk away from myself disturbed, hands suffering and unoccupied, clasping one another in desperation. Tonight I am insatiable as moving water, thirsty as a life behind bars, free from all resentment not worrying about the future, schizophrenic, I could dive into the fabric and bury us there. This early morning time exposure of lightening, geese in arrows across the sky, ducks regimented walking to water. Find me disoriented as usual, unable to fall in line, unwilling to surrender, drumming up another battle, steeled against this order... this morning I make my own cadence, lucky as hell, restless like Cassius Clay, on my toes, laced up, face down in this adventure, counting seams, watching the canvas of the earth receive and genuflect, feeling the sensuous tension, riveted into play, feeling the sweat bead up and draw watermarks... dropping my head back to see stars. and god it was bright i saw stars.  -KatYa

Saturday, 25 June 2016

cold war on ice

Hi, i am the States, your distant cousin. remember me? you used to like me for my blue jeans and my cowboys and maybe even my coca-cola, and my Hollywood stills, and my D-to-the-V-Day march as your Ally. You weren't so fond of my fast food and how i was secretly recording you, or my global subliminal influence, or my secret missions to throw money and guns at some fine one with more my interest at heart than yours. Once you seat him in office, watch him kiss my beloved ass. i am the States and i'm still All Wall Street and a walking contradiction. Catch me beaming over Putin's recent remarks, you know how he called me the only superpower. Sure, he's about as appealing as a nuclear warhead with nowhere to go, but it's nice to know i haven't been throwing my weight around the pond for nothing since we put the cold war on ice. LOL. Speaking of ice - does everyone in Europe still drink our diet cokes at room temperature? So bizarre! But so long as you buy. Hello high fructose corn syrup! Who else can boast a cash crop made of air and bubbles and caramel color, with the preservative fortitude to withstand the end of the world? A real punch to the kidney, eh? you know you can't get enough of me. if i hadn't created the internet, we wouldn't be face-timing and you'd be feeling lonely like Queen Cameron, Brexit the stage, just in time for Wimbledon and her lovely lazy summer days dressed in white and all polite, left to graze the green grass while the markets recover and come to your mother, ya me, over here, with a ring in your ear and a sleeve up your sleeve, superpowering the jetstream to blow you away.

Friday, 24 June 2016

high fructose corn syrup dyed, twisted and wrapped tight in plastic, posing as black licorice

We were at Lucky's having breakfast. The booth was luxurious under our asses. You said you wanted to be helpful and we got close because I reached out for help and you appeared. Then you acted in a way I thought was unhelpful and I reacted in a way that upset you and then you distanced yourself presuming I was ungrateful or shocked because you thought you were being helpful and should not experience other people's reactions. I think I was about to walk away and out the glass door framed in the glass wall, the storefront where the specials had been frosted on: Ninety-nine cents for a cup of coffee. 2 fried eggs for five bucks. I did not wanna trust you were being helpful when every cell in my body was on edge by some things you were saying. You saw me getting ready to get up and pre-empted me. You laid down cash quickly on the flat plastic tray, and walked away. How could getting me worked up this way be helpful to me? How could you be so upset at me for feeling defensive? I thought you were working me up this way, but it was really me. You thought I was hurting you but it was really you.

Suddenly we were no longer close. Everything changes, the whole world gets blocked out. All I could hold on to as I picked myself up to follow you out there, was the smile I saw on the old man's face, the proprietor, with an apron tied around his belly. I passed him by as he was wiping down a booth closer to the door with his rag. Someone wasn't so offended by me. Still you and I were miles apart. This did not mean anything, for we both had an underlying connection, call it friendship. This connection caused us not to feel abandoned, just hurt temporarily. Call it a misunderstanding between friends. I approached and listened. You told me I was acting entitled, when all you were doing was trying to help. I told you how you said stuff that hurt me, which caused me to react. You demanded an apology. I thought about it. While waiting for an apology, you preached. You were a bit older so I let you. On the side I was contemplating an apology as a gesture of good will. I do not typically give in to demands, but maybe for someone I care about who cares about me.

I admit I tuned you out until several seconds later when I apologized. You didn't hear it because you were worked up, so the next time you told me how I oughta apologize I reminded you I just did. We were on the sidewalk in front of Lucky's. The cars were passing by. The atmosphere was white without shadows or fog. The sun just could not be refined. The street had noise which kindly muted our argument. My feelings were laid out for you. I think you saw me the second I reminded you I had apologized. Because that's when it changed. You saw I was quiet and quieter than you and putting up with you there. You saw that I was your friend. You relaxed a little bit and changed your tune. You acted like an older woman telling a younger woman how you were trying to help me, how your support would look, but not feel, like support. I nodded my head because I honestly remembered you were wanting to help me, you were trying to. Maybe I just wanted your help a certain special way, like I am programmed to receive only certain kinds of shapes, like Tetris falling. Everything was okay again. We were friends again, with only a residual, a bad memory; like high fructose corn syrup dyed, twisted and wrapped tight in plastic, posing as black licorice. You finished describing how you are. You didn't have to say anything, I guess, I already figured it out on my own.

Thursday, 23 June 2016

you were headlining. i was redlining

I dated this girl for a long while. We fought a lot, god did we battle. My blood pressure must have topped out several times, I got dizzy. Sometimes I was sure I was a second away from my heart exploding in my chest. She was headlining. I was redlining. Suffering the embarrassment of being overheard by strangers, yelling and screaming. The cops came a couple of times. That's how bad it got. I was in love and I felt betrayed. We were in love and we both felt betrayed.

Promotion is annoying and i'm trying to move away from it. It's not like i need the money, i already have a decent career. Of course celebrity's a fuckin joke in this country, who would ever wanna promote themselves into a known quantity, only to be claymation warped by TMZ? Probably not you and definitely not me. Obscurity is a wonderful home. i wanna appreciate being unknown.

You mostly wanted things to go your way, you wanted me to acquiesce. I was not the type to give in; lawyers on both sides of my family. We were together and I was mostly supporting us, but you tried. You kept saying you were gonna get off disability and get a job because you were not really disabled, and you were a pretty convincing liar. I wasn't in the mood to be mastermanipulated but I had faith in us and hoped for the best. Like growing up. I don't have to wonder why I cannot trust anyone too well anymore.

Just to feel you mean something to someone. like you get me. you appreciate me. thats really fukkin awesome. if i can hold on to that, i wouldnt need to be in pain maybe... and of course, when i stop working on stuff and get passive get lazy get tired and uninspired, the pain re-arises cause when i'm not doing i'm thinking, and when i think too much or for too long, I create imaginary problems and begin to think they are real. I think it would be better to be with someone, just be with someone, listen to them, talk to them, appreciate them, love them.

 It doesn't really matter who.
xxx KatYa xxx

Wednesday, 22 June 2016

Journal # 06.22.16

you will help me if you are you and do what you do. what carries your signature will be appreciated by a conscious element for the courage to represent. we are not alike nor are we unalike. we both approach the rising sun the same. we both toss and turn on hot summer nights and wait for the mind to situate, before sleep comes to take us away. i have chosen Buddhist mantras to help me quiet my mind to sleep. i have chosen radical acceptance to level my day behind me, so i may rest and coalesce into a peaceful almost unitive being. for then i need not want to fix it. i need not want to change twenty four hour history. i need not want. at all. then can i off into the other world while my body is only breathing. where we have little control over our thoughts and visions and feelings. where i wanna believe something is being worked out to help me get along. in the morning. in my slippers. taking meds. drinking coffee with hazelnut cream and sugar. usually (now at my age) special like disoriented, awkward and shifty, fearless and ready to belt out a nursery rhyme in the shower. in the kitchen. at the top of the stairs whistling down to the boys in the backyard. they come running sometimes like cheetahs across the plains. lovable like this upon waking. not so lovable much later. after the day has grabbed me (and it used to be the other way around and i miss it) and shook me and often shook the life out of me somehow. and i worry will i make it. have i made it? and if i feel i have made it, well, will there be anything more to do? of course, of course, Katya, never mind you! there is always more to do. level your head and get yourself going. pick up the guitar. hit the keyboard. work it out again. you may go through motions, but those motions you go through may also activate you. i wish you the best. sincerely. we all need some help somehow. i know. the world is a mother. keep going. there's something else awaits you. and you never know what that may be, but meaningful and so it's sweet like coffee ground out by hand and touched with a tablespoon of hazelnut cream and several grains of sugar. to make us more fetching, darling and deserving. goodness gracious! we say (like our parents said before us) admiring, so lovable you are.  - xx KatYa

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

as life is life and living is living

as we watch the world go by and loved ones die as we look into the sky and wonder why. as we get over ourselves and live another day and go to bed after we pray. as we judge and condemn and smile and then we judge and condemn again and we smile and again we smile with our family with our friends. as the light offers ever new glimpses of the same familiar places and ever new plays on the same familiar faces as we see we see again and what we see we remark for its beauty as it is remarkable. and when the sun goes down soft yellow or new white lights illuminate our little private corners and spaces. in rooms in houses in woods do not go so deep anymore or do they. as we feel we feel stronger and better more encouraged as we feel we feel lost in our feeling or scared in our rooms in our homes in the not so deep so darkened woods. we pull the blankets closer. i will hold you really tight as you hold me really tight i will hold on to you and tell you i love you in a whisper and mean it. you will say nothing as we fall asleep this way as a trace of yellow light fogs up the hallway. you left the light on for me because you know my nightmares are less vicious in less than replete darkness. for whatever reason it does not matter. i set the coffee grounds in the maker and set the timer to brew the coffee at dawn for you. i may not wake when you do but if i do you may be certain i will arise to kiss and say goodbye to you.

Sunday, 19 June 2016

most amazing superlative ever

superlatives are the dreariest thing i encounter over the course of my day. the best this, the greatest that, the blankety-blank of all time. since i cannot seem to dodge them, let me join the party: i must be the least interested of all fucking beings in our systemic accolade olympics. the greatest jade of merit in our meritocracy (for which the lifetime achievement award is insanity). talk radio is all talking in my head while i color my nails with lead paint. my cats sleep on surge protectors so they won't get short-circuited by the drones sculpting into formless shape the thoughtscape of all tomorrows. my mascara has thickened and scrapes the lenses of my glasses, until i can no longer see a thing. i sacrifice my clarity into a datastream bubbling toward and then away from me. leaving me behind. i can't remember shit. time for a selfie.

oh. there i am. looking pretty. looking pretty silly. looking pretty silly with a blog and an attitude. and a cold brew coffee to my dome.

Saturday, 18 June 2016

under the influence of and blindsided by life

what is left to do but live when all the other meaning i ever thought life carried no longer holds me, no way, all is left is the life itself and whomever orchestrated this party clearly let me figure it out for myself, hey, there's nothing can be figured by it, there is little use for an outline for a story that changes every instant, imperceptibly most of the time, punctuated by obvious dramatic incidents, unraveling in a rhythm decided by greater forces than self and self-will - whether you call it god or not, there it is showing you up all the time - and i could begin to really love it if only i could accept it, but tend to fight it all the while, not sayin' im against change, no way, but i guess i get attached like any young fool i wanna hold on to the meaning i created and not let go, the meaning i share with you, as we unravel the way we do, pretty sometimes, funny, tragic sometimes, for i cherish it and maybe that's what a book is to me, writing a book, capturing a sliver of cherished meaning, so we can have it, you and me, so we can know in twenty sixteen this was how it was for a hot second, glorious, tumbled off of a platform and raising dust, confused and intoxicated as life is, under many an influence, troubled and reflective, comin apart at the seams, belligerent, graceful sometimes, then colliding again with the water, the air, the earth, blindsided by the spirit, chanted away on a fallen sun, going dark again, colorful at dawn, vital, full of hope and bloodied shows we're made of something, and - no matter the violent wannabes tryin to ruin what we got - the sure thing won't ever change is our rising up with an ever touched fortitude to show them we can love them, too, despite themselves spun into lost causes, for we have been lost, too, and only found ourselves like old friends to embrace and move courageously into the lucid dream in precarious identities under our skin, deepening the experience only by giving and giving into. And out of my mind i go, crazy and unregimented - sometimes in ink - zigzagging under the influence of strange and unseen elements, having a grand and grainy absorption, laughin and cryin, talkin and sleepin, knowing no other way but here, but now, discardin the limited perception, struggling to make somethin of it, and so what's made is what is, and what is is pretty damn spectacular, i mean, what is left to do but live, when all the meaning you ever made no longer holds you, no way, is that freedom or what? Whether we want it or not it's not about what we want, is it, it's only lived and the living never wears out, just as sure as perception has its limits, we see death when nothing ever dies, life keeps living and nothing will stop it! Not even the end of this earth, so goddamn! Whose to worry? All is left is the imperceptible ever changing, punctuated by obvious dramatic moments, spaced by space, unitive when embraced, divided when not, judged all along, fading into sunsets, risen into colors, drawn out over time, blessed by the blessings, covered in earth, supported on the back of the wind, falling like the water, breaking in a wave, bleached by the sun, suffering in darkness, and tremendously reunited, partying til dawn, siesta all day, coffee in the evening, writing at night, diving into books, driven into meaning,  making use of what we've been given... loving every second if you are lucky and figure out how to give in: so give in, my friend, give in.   - KatYa, 2016 (celebrating blog post #1,000)

Friday, 17 June 2016

Journal # 06.17.16

i may not be a geometry star, but i know how to leave the seven ball behind the eight and take your money on the nine, i might have lost our debate, but i can talk you out of getting behind the wheel, drowned in imperial pints as we are, together at last side by side in some pub, living outta memory, under overcast skies, looking in your eyes. i may not vote this time around, but that don't mean i don't know my rights, kid, in no swing state and we are colored blue and shaped like an ass, too. and i vote for you. i have been broken-hearted a hundred times over, but we will get her rolling again just takes a little tender love and care, ima mechanic of love, wavin' white towel flags to your window, you see, look up in your eyes, those wild and overcast skies, you stare down at me all wonderin' am i dangerous? will you fall for me again, will i charm you somehow from the outside in, and a bottle of gin, i might not hold a steady job, but see me beside you sunrise to sunset, holdin on to us yet, down calm like the charm, any unfortunate scenario, say, four or five alarm, seven ball behind the eight, and hopeful to disarm all that old unchallenged hate got you heavy, deep in the past where it's buried, someone who hurt you, and so you need help, you need love, you need someone you can trust. will i be the fortunate one? can i be careful and gentle with you? acknowledge every tear fallin off your face, pushed out on to the streets hand in hand for all tomorrows, or maybe just right now. dangerous now, come here. dangerous now, me and you and there's no other way.

Tuesday, 14 June 2016

GWB - Video Book 1:9:2

idea factories and surge protectors

Incredible people are dying, some are being born, and I have to move my car across the street so I don't get a parking ticket. What else is new. I have placed fans strategically around my living room because the circulation seems to give my Idea Factory a run. I mean my head. Like I am walking while sitting still, the air pushing around. One of my cats is sleeping on the surge protector, perhaps toward the same purpose, though he may get more than he bargained for.

matching socks to enlightenment

All that confusion in your head has an end. The secret lies hidden in plain view, in your dresser drawer. Pull on those handles. They will knock three times against the wood paneling when you let go. Now on your knees may you witness the truth in woven cottons. The spindly bastards await your efforts to reunite them with their twins. This is best done just after the latest trip to Launderland, with the big sack of fresh linens carried home on your back, opened to a flophouse of orphaned socks. You begin to lay them out side by side on the carpet, segregated by color and size. All the little ones seem smaller than they are, and some you stretch over your toes, amazed they still fit. Some have holes or are grossly disfigured or stained, and will be laid to rest. Their twins, if found at all, shall be laid beside them. Many of the pairs were adopted in a spirit of adventure; the ones with toes, the super furry ones,  fluorescent ones. Look for further uses of these ones, may the adventure continue. You like to cut the toes off the toe socks, and use them for wristbands. The furry ones make for great dusters. The fluorescent ones could be tied to a bike frame. Knee highs could be fashioned into leggings. You begin to feel an extraordinary peace of mind as the painted strips of cotton alongside you begin to mate with the orphans spilling out of the sack. You ball them up and bounce them into a clean drawer with its wooden walls. Nothing like the smell of stale wood and fresh linen. You haven't done this in years! Now all those crucial hours before work will become easier with all the pairs together at last. One last thing before you go. Be sure to take all of the remaining orphans and perhaps elastic the strips together and run them down the side at one edge of the drawer. Compassionately. This way you will still have the chance to mismatch your way to enlightenment.

Thursday, 9 June 2016


I guess i lived a little hard and all the chaos wore me down some and many days i'm just fightin for even. I still have some fight in me - sunrise 2 sunset - it don't matter so long as i get enough rest. Some say i'm young and i won't deny at best i could be halfway to home. I thank angels and stars for the dust i kicked up to make scratch and free now to loan.

Wednesday, 8 June 2016

Journal # 06.08.16

The kids were at play across the way and I wondered how to set myself loose like that, again, is my only forum in my head anymore? Summer strikes up a breeze from the delta and I know the blues and oughta sing. You keep that inside and you risk intimidating your blood. I have quarantined myself off the frolicking ocean of internet, maybe as much for you as for me. I wonder do you still have nothing to do but play with your phone all day. Is there anyone holds you anymore? I hope you have someone who loves you, sometimes I still wish it could be me. Today like most days I am trying real hard to simply love the life I have been given. There was a time I didn't have to try, I sure was a lucky kid. I have my moments but it's a lot harder to reach the beach. Please don't ever forget that I love you, maybe not as clearly or definitively like when we were in each other's arms, okay, but the memory of us warms my heart and I won't forget the terror of it all. Cause being honest keeps it real.

GWB - Video Book 1:8:3

Tuesday, 7 June 2016

restructuring your conditions

I made some changes in my conditions to try and maximize the possibility for continuing to write books. Don't get me wrong, I love my life and my routine. But something was off, and consequentially I've seen a frightening drop in sustained creative output the last couple of months. I can flash here and flash there, keeping up my daily blogging and youtubing, but there is a price to pay for this kinda work. You get used to bouncing around the internet! Which I find not so conducive to the long form, or the conditions necessary for writing books. Many will say (and I have told myself) it's as easy as clicking on the 'do not disturb' protocol (on your devices) and making personal space for yourself. And maybe it is. But bloggers have a responsibility to their audience that the Ralph Waldo Emersons and Henry David Thoreaus of the world have not! Anyway, I decided to make some changes. I stepped away from the internet for several days and stepped outdoors. I drove out of town and did some things differently than usual. This coincides with a vacation from my nine to fiver. I eased up on the coffee. I caught up on my sleep (a real deficit I was running) and reconnected with some people and creatures (mostly cats) I care about, on a deeper level. I stopped reading and listening to the news. I need to make a conscious push towards the lighter things of life, laughter and learning and shared, hopeful perspectives. I tend to let myself go toward darkness, I realize, it's easier to be jaded. Now I am rediscovering how it feels to wake up in the morning, make some coffee, and sit down at my desk in silence and write my book. It was only a few months back when I was doing this, but it coulda been forever ago.

restructuring your work

A couple of days ago, I found a way back into my book, maybe the new moon on the 4th of June gave me an opening. I took it. I'm still not out of the woods, but I have a lead. I never give up hope; with writing, you can always find a way. The book is written in first person, with tense varying from past to present. I have been dreaming about switching up narrators, alternating chapter to chapter, yet I really love coming from the voice and perspective of my female lead, my heroine, and a change would be risky. This is serial fiction, after all, and one should expect consistency across books. Still, a slight departure from the first two books - in voice or person - could be pulled off, I thought, so long as the plot and characters held together. I've been dreaming about this for months (and not on purpose), and I found a compromise. I started interspersing the main narrative - chapters rounding out at 2,000 words each - with slices of 3rd person narrative about 500 words each. The body is therefore still under the auspice of Ame, for protection of what I have established (in the first two books), and guidance. Yet I am letting in light of special circumstances, subchapters pertaining to Kell, describing her experience simultaneous to and interwoven with the plot. I was thrilled to have envisioned this, and I believe it's rather unusual for an author to switch back and forth from first and third person. But it seems to be working so far and it's an intuitive hit. Let's see now if i can pull it off!

Friday, 3 June 2016

Journal # 06.03.16

Give me the night give me silence, a destination where i stand, so I can live here - off and on - this land. Give me an apple to stir up my blood - i will give you my all - anything and a juicy story to tell. Find me at the river at dawn - the valley drawn - straight outta my mind. Come and hold me if you can. I made a ring of water and hold no promises - i'm an honest girl - still circling round the fire burned my heart. Now I know I have no control. And when I remember it's better this way. The green glass Tanqueray and all the drunken dreams dissolved, unreal, taken by the current, back to the channel, the great wide open and changed the world. We were left behind where we found us, belly to belly and eyes upon us, down in the dust of the dusk, nine at night. Making out all right, on the bank, snuggled up against a fallen tree, you and me, summer times together, we started something never ended like the war. Fallen in your arms again some day, unexpectedly, you and me, over tea. You may throw your cap into the air - spinning like the dream - left me dead lost in my despair. Tangles in my hair, I will jump off a rock into the eddy. Wake myself up so good to share my life with you. Under the sky, dead heat in the sun. Wet. And ready...